WWW: Wizards, Wonkas and Werewolves
by Sera dy Relandrant
Summary: Mello is conceived. Crackfic!


It was spring. Along with typhoid, measles, hay fever and a host of other maladies, love was in the air.

Lily and James Potter were changing the Chosen One's nappies, Peter Pettigrew was hatching plots and indulging his fetish for playground bullies and Sirius Black was making sweet love to his motorbike. That left Remus Lupin at home, setting the scene for a tete-a-tete with the Treasurer of Chocoholics Anonymous. He had been exposed at an impressionable age to three young hellions and the guiding philosophies of his life had been 'Opposites Attract', 'If it's hotter or smarter or stronger than you, make it your friend' and 'Do one new thing that scares you everyday' - courtesies of Messers Potter, Pettigrew and Black respectively. Laboring under these happy delusions, Master Lupin was under the impression that, at twenty-one, he had found his soulmate in the person of one Wendy Wilhelmina Wulfricine Wonka.

He sighed when he thought about her - her skin like bars of milky Toblerone, her eyes like Hershey's kisses left out too long under the sun, her lips like sugar-glazed strawberries, her shoulder-length hair like strings of molasses-candy, her hyperbolic curves...

He could _eat _her.

On cue, the doorbell sang. Sang, not rang. It was a Christmas carol, which seemed right and proper and cheery in the balmy April weather.

"The door is open, Wendelwums!" he called and with a last, admiring glance at his artfully-arranged living room flung himself gracefully in an armchair. Tastefully patterned with full moons. He heard the squeak of squeaky shoes and the scratchy sound of plastic bags rubbing against eachother before the vision draped itself in the archway.

Wendy the Wonderful, Wendy the Willowy, Wendy the Wonka was clad from blond head to pointy, boot-shod toes in leather. It was an ankle-length sheathlike gown of black leather with delicate flounces of black lace that floated - no doubt due to a skilfully-applied Levitation Charm - around her. There was a bustle too, ornamented with plummy black velvet bows and steel rivets. Elbow-length black leather gloves, embroidered with Oompa Loompas in silver thread, tastefully decorated her arms. A daring, thirteenth-century coif of black - what else? - velvet and lace stood on her hair. Sadly, the bodice, though deeply cut, was overlaid by a fringe of leaf-patterned black lace and the effect was less than tantalizing to a man of Remus's taste.

"You designed that yourself?" he asked politely, attempting to conceal his disappointment at the lace.

The Founderess of O.L.L.F (The Oompa Loompa Liberation Front) nodded. "Ravishing don't you think?"

Remus contemplated the metal-studded bustle. "Quite certainly, oh yes, Wendy. Original. Ravishing."

She dropped her bags and glanced at him - taking in the tweed suit and neatly brushed brown hair. He was the ghastly spectre of the quintessential British gentleman - stiff upper lip, cucumber sandwiches, croquet on the lawn, Cheery Ho then. But within, a wild, raging, monstrous beast lurked, a storm of passion and Mills&Boonsy temptuousness, complete with coal black eyes, rippling muscles and sinews of steel. ''The absence of leather in a man's wardrobe renders his appearance worthy of the title of 'impotent'... but you look tolerable too." Doubtfully, "I suppose." Neither was enamoured with the other's wardrobe.

He waved his wand, with the elegance born of ogling the elegant Narcissa Black for hours, and a tea-tray glided into the room. "Tea?" he suggested winningly and she smiled at him. Her lips were as pink as a boat of boiled sweets cruising on rivers of frothing chocolate... He poured sugar-cubes to the three-quarters brim mark of a teacup and poured a delicate syrup of tea over it, until there was a gloopy mixture of tea-moistened sugar in the cup, before handing it to the goddess before him. Just the way she liked it.

The Lovegoods and Wonkas who had been interbreeding with eachother for generations were on good terms.

"So I was visiting Cousin Xeno and Selene, they told me all about their plan to visit Zimbabwe this summer to learn more about Fizzing Muzwumps. Temperamental things, those Muzwumps, they like to lurk in caves and they have the oddest cravings for purple cabbages-" She accepted the cup and then frowned after surveying its contents. "No, Remus," she sighed. "Today I'm going to have to ask you to humor me with a-" she wrinkled her nose-" regular cuppa." When he blinked, nonplussed, she shoved the cup at him with the air of a nicotine-addict who was trying to get himself deaddicted, on being offered a fag. Injured, insulted, going half-mad with desire. Her voice came out higher-pitched as she said, "Oh please don't leave it _staring _at me, I'm going to do something we'll both regret unless you-"

Hastily, he Vanished the contents of the cup. "That's better," she murmured, sagging in her chair with the drained look of a sailor who'd come out of a battle with the Kraken with only superficial injuries.

He was too polite to say anything, but his eyebrows did the talking. "???" they said.

She pinched her fingers. "I'm fat," she said woefully. "I am morbidly obese."

"Oh of course you're not, Wendycuddles! You have such..." _yummy mammaries... _"lusciousness! I mean, um, lustful- er, I mean you look lovely. Gorgeous. Tiptop. Shipshape. Beauty sticks to you like hairgel sticks to Sirius and diapers stick to James."

She looked appeased. "Oh Remusumpkin sugarfairy!" she sighed, "You always know how to make everything better!" And that was why he liked girls. They made cheesy petnames cute. He was not gay, nope. Nada. Zilch. And Sirius did not have a cute ass. His ass could not compare to Wendy's (bustle-hidden) butt.

They gazed raptly into eachother's eyes for a moment, blazing holes into eachother's souls. Then he poured out another cup of tea and she continued, "I went to Xeno's about that interview for the Quibbler... naturally as Founderess of O.L.L.F I mustn't neglect my public relations. The plight of Oompa Loompas everywhere - and the inhuman way persons of my barbaric brother Willie's disposition have of taking advantage of them - must not remain unaddressed. They must be hauled to the forefront. We must make nuisances of ourselves in order to be heard."

She paused. "I was flipping through a Muggle glam-mag Selene bought and I believe Muggle celebrities have interesting ways of attracting attention... of course this P.E.T.A business they make a fuss about is absurd and impractical - they're against _leather_, for God's sake, Remus - but the methods they embrace are admirable and speak of high intelligence and practicality. I was thinking about bringing out a nude calendar, all for the sake of the poor, dear Oompa Loompas..."

He almost choked. "A nude calendar, Wendyplum? In which you would not be clothed?"

"In which I would be stark raving naked, yes." She took a dainty sip of tea, pinky poking out, the perfect British dame. Crumpets and Sunday Bakes, knee-length skirts and a tart, no-nonsense voice. "So, as I was saying about Xeno's marvellous theories - which are frankly, not appreciated enough by the general populace (to their detriment, as they will soon find out)-"

He shut his eyes and tried to remember the first time they'd met. She'd called him up to do an interview for a segment she was writing on Werewolves, for Witch Weekly. A human interest piece - The Man Behind the Monster. He'd only agreed because the unusual alliteration of her name and the fact that she was related to a globally-renowned chocolate tycoon interested him. They'd met in a bar, and she'd tried to pull a Rita Skeeter on him - bobbed, banged, blond, Quick Quotes Quill, yes alliteration loved her. But the twinkling Honeydukes-bar eyes reminded him of Dumbledore. Dumbledore on crack, of course.

And so they'd floated through Firewhiskies and she'd PMSed about how no one seemed to be interested in O.L.L.F - he couldn't imagine why - and he whined about the full moon - the poor dear - and she told him how she thought werewolves were misunderstood, just like Oompa Loompas, and he couldn't understand how anyone would dare make fun of her beautiful name...

"I dropped by at Knockturn Alley and picked up the book you wanted," she said, emerging from the depths of her metal-studded leather tote and handing him a heavy book. "_Dementors, Shinigami and Threstrals - Omens of Death Throughout the World. _Really, Remus, you are of a most moribund mood."

By the Law of Opposites, the perky permed Pamelas of the world were drawn to the morose moody Macs. Wendy Wonka and Nymphadora Tonks had both sought the same criteria in their men - and in the responsibility-shirking, baby-hating, creepy-moustache-embracing, semi-gay, tattered werewolf they were destined to find their (leaky) dreamboat.

"I must try to reform myself for your sake, Wendylicious."

"Oh but that's so sweet of you, Remusumpcious chocopie!" And they plunged into eachother's souls again. A thorough workout for the eyeballs.

Then Remus said, "I have a present for you, Wendlesnookums." Again a graceful wand-twirl and a canvas bag, artfully decorated with bloodstains, landed on the tea-table. It was Sirius' handwork from the good ol' days of prepubescence when Art and Craft Time took predominance over porn. Wendy contemplated it with interest until Remus pulled out a box of chocolates with a flourish. "Blood-favoured specialities from Transylvania. Just for you."

The moan that emerged from her peppermint-pink lips was orgasmic. "Oh Remus," she choked, "Take that thing away from me, _please_, I can smell the calories...."

"And what's more, they're calorie-free." Remus plunged on mercilessly. "Specialities, like I said." He shook the bag and more goodies emerged - sugar-spun handcuffs, biodegradable condoms in exotic fruity flavours, mint handcuffs studded with M&Ms...

"You," Wendy said solemnly, passion brimming in her molten-chocolate eyes, "Remusnackerdoodle Cookumsmoochum Cheerumwearum Sugapugapie, are the best boyfriend ever."

Remus smiled modestly. "Perhaps I am." If he'd been Sirius, he would have been more enthusiastic, if Peter less. He was Dr Romance, he was, the Serial Charmer, the Universal White Knight, the Chevalier, the Chocolate-Box Heartthrob... he was also of a most modest disposition. "Shall we..." He smiled innocently.

Wendy's eyes were like those of a raunchy little bunny in breeding season. Wendy didn't need to be told twice. She jumped up to her feet, sugar-laden items of questionable purpose in her arms, and together they ran friskily up the stairs, in the manner of frolicsome young goats, and into the sunset.

**A/N: Check Mello's page on Unicyclopedia and you'll find out why he just has to be related to the Wonkas, in some weird, freaky way. Just look at the pictures! And yes, the timeline is warped cause Remus would probably be ten years older if he ever fathered Mello. **


End file.
